It’s a post about a dog.
I’ve never been what you would describe as a dog lover. My mom, however, is, and as such always had a canine companion of varying breeds by her side, from cocker spaniel to lab to an indeterminate mix. Though there was always a dog in our home, I never really cared much for them. I merely tolerated their presence, much preferring the company of my cat.
As newlyweds, my husband and I did as many young couples do: we acquired a pet to care for, first a cat then a dog. Even then my affection for the dog could best be described as tolerance; she was certainly more my husband’s dog than mine. A good dog, great with the babies, but just a dog.
After a couple of years, we acquired another dog and then eventually sold them both when we realized what sorry dog parents we were. In our defense, at the time we had a five year old, a four year old, a three year old and a newborn. I guess you could say we were otherwise engaged and the dogs were at the bottom of the priority list. Way at the bottom, that plus my toddlers’ shoes seemed to be magnets for all piles of doggie you-know-what, well, it was best for us all to find them another home.
So when a puppy entered our lives some eleven years later it was something of a spontaneous decision on our part. Our friends had discovered a box of puppies abandoned on the side of the road, my husband and boys went to see them, and suddenly we were dog parents once again. My only caveat to another round of dog ownership was that I not be the one to deal with pee and poop. I figured after four children I’d served my time with any and all bodily discharges. Yes and amen.
As it turned out, I became the primary caretaker and though I was unprepared for the all consuming nature of puppy care, it made sense that I be the one to take her out in the middle of the night, for example, since of all of us, my schedule during the day is the most flexible. And yes, I did deal in both poop and pee.
And yet Darcy the puppy and I became friends and companions.
I didn’t realize just how much I liked and enjoyed her company until a couple of weeks ago when she became very sick. When the vet told me he wasn’t sure she would recover, I grieved.
She nearly died during emergency surgery. Her making it through the night post surgery was touch and go. I dreaded calling that next morning because I was afraid of the bad news. To our relief, there was none. Instead she made a remarkable recovery and she was able to come home to us after a six day stay in the vet’s care.
She’s been saved twice, once from the side of the road and now again through the miracle of veterinary medical practice.
I am glad.